


The Milano

by WritLarge



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Hormonal Peter is a snarky brat, Horuz still hates Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2441276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritLarge/pseuds/WritLarge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Weak? Really? So I should name her what? Festering Wound? Bad Hangover? Ass Stabber?” He spat the names at Yondu mockingly. Peter might have grown up considerably in the past dozen or so years, but he was still a mouthy bastard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Milano

“The Mil-ah-noo? Really?” Yondu looked at Peter skeptically. The newly named pilot was bouncing on his heels by the ship he’d accepted with extreme eagerness when Yondu had offered it. The boy had been determined to prove his flying abilities, throwing himself into training with a previously unseen degree of focus. They’d all expected to have a good laugh at Quill making a fool of himself, but he’d proven shockingly fast at learning to fly and completely upended the betting pool. Even Yondu had to admit that the brat had a knack and he hadn’t bothered to hide how impressed he’d been when Peter completed the Gauntlet on his first try. The boy had been insufferable for weeks.

That said, no way in hell would Peter be permitted to break off from the core group on his own. Yondu didn’t trust him that much yet.

“What? Milano’s a good name.” Peter replied defensively. “It’s cool and… subtle.”

“It’s boring and weak,” he returned. In a fleet full of names like Star Slayer, Shadow Blade and The Bloody Claw, it would stand out. The boy had a hard enough time being taken seriously by the crew who’d known him since he was an annoying little shit hiding in the ventilation shafts. Quill had become a damned good thief, but allowing him off on his own was significant change for them. Yondu’d had to cuss out a few crew members when he’d caught them hovering over the boy on jobs. Not that anyone would have ever let Peter know they worried, watching his tiny form slip through security net gaps and disappear into the darkness to disable locks and alarms. He wondered if Peter had figured out that the cannibalism thing was mostly a joke. It wasn’t like they’d ever served some dumb fuck up for dinner instead of incinerating the traitorous jackass. Still, the assumption served as handy emotional blackmail now and then.

Right now the small boy they’d initially grabbed as cargo had grown into a roiling ball of hormones and was petulantly stomping across the packed dirt of the landing site. His surge in height had finally slowed last year. Yondu didn’t know shit about Terran growth stages, but he knew an adolescent tantrum when he saw one. Though he may have been sulky as hell, Peter was still one of the more trustworthy and capable members of Yondu’s crew, which was saying something. Most of the crew feared and respected Yondu. With Peter there was something else. Yondu didn’t want to examine it too closely, because he remembered the last time he and his own father had fought. He was hoping to put off that particular reckoning with Peter for at least another decade. There was no shortage of potential replacements for the unfortunately light fingered pilot who’d abruptly lost both his ship and his head, but Peter had been getting restless and that never ended well for anyone. He’d defeated the Gauntlet and had as much right as any of the others.

Though right now Yondu was trying to resist the need to smack him.

“Weak? Really? So I should name her what? Festering Wound? Bad Hangover? Ass Stabber?” He spat the names at Yondu mockingly. Peter might have grown up considerably in the past dozen or so years, but he was still a mouthy bastard.

“Boy-“ 

“No, no. I’ve got more.” Peter held up a hand. “How about Death Dick?”

“For fuck’s sake, give it a proper name.” 

“Fine.” After hurling Yondu a look of disgust, Peter crossed his arms in front of his chest and closed his eyes. His usually pale pink skin was browned from the light exposure these past few days on the ground and his hair had mostly grown back since his disastrous attempt at shaving his head Ravager style. “The Revenge.” 

“Already got one of those.” Peter groaned as Yondu shot down the suggestion. No duplicates. It was too damn confusing.

“The Phoenix.” Yondu snorted. Really? Did the boy have a death wish?

“Seems like bad luck to name your ship after a big ball of fucking fire.”

“Bird! It’s a magical bird of fire, Yondu.” Peter threw up his hands in frustration. “Fine. The Shredder.” 

“That I like,” it was appropriately harsh and threatening, “but there’s that Shredder asshole we used a couple jobs back… You remember him? Wore these bladed-”

Yondu gestured with his hands to try and explain, but Peter was too busy rolling his eyes and kicking over a toolkit to listen. Least the boy knew better than to punch the ship. He needed to learn not to wear his emotions so openly. Peter took a deep breath and turned back to Yondu wearing a weary smirk.

“So – by process of elimination, I guess we’re back to Death Dick. Unless you prefer Ass Stabber?” Brat. Yondu exhaled a long-suffering sigh at Peter’s belligerent tone and wished he’d named the damned ship himself before offering it to him.

“Okay. All right. What the hell is a Milano?” 

“Who. It’s a who. You’ll let me name her?” Peter perked up, hopefully.

“Who? Who the hell is Milano? Some Terran bandit or something?” The boy was forever telling ridiculous stories about Terran adventurers like mutated warrior turtles, transforming robot ships and some kind of thundering cat people. 

“Well, no…” Peter didn’t begin his usual rambling, blushing a little instead and fidgeting with his cuff. Blushing. Peter hadn’t blushed since his voice broke, the cheeky bastard.

Yondu laughed.

“Aww. You’re naming it after a lover aren’t you?” He clapped Peter on the shoulder. “Who do you know well enough to want to name a ship after?”

Some pilots did, of course, but usually after lost loves. Peter wasn’t an innocent. Yondu knew what went on with his crew. The boy had a handful of encounters under his belt, so to speak, with newer recruits here and there. He wasn’t too discriminating about it either. He may have been Terran, but he’d try it on with just about any species with no shame at whatsoever. It was mostly overly giggly and adventurous girls, though Yondu had needed to turf one cocky little Krylorian dickwad that had thought to gain status through fucking and then fucking over Peter. He hadn’t been any loss to the crew and Yondu made known that his abrupt exile was more about protecting a valuable resource than any sentimental bullshit. Peter certainly hadn’t missed him. He’d been discovered a couple days later up the skirt of the engineer’s assistant by Kraglin, who’d taken pictures. And there’d been that Centarian boy whose traditional red fin Yondu denied envying. Still, Yondu didn’t think Peter had ever fallen in love with any of his conquests and he’d never heard of any Milano.

“Shut up.”

“Well they ain’t crew. Dead, then? It’s not your Momma?” Yondu was pretty sure the boy’s mama had been Meredith. He’d heard the name sobbed often enough in Peter’s first year on board to remember it.

“No,” the boy started. “It’s not my mom. Fuck, why do you care, Yondu? Isn’t it my problem if no one else likes it?”

“The Milano.” He shook his head. Ah, what did matter anyway? Peter was clearly determined to be on the far side of abnormal, even for a Ravager. “You know what, boy? You’re right. Name it whatever the hell you want. Just don’t make me regret giving it to you.”

“No. No, I won’t. Really, Yondu.” And he meant it too. Yondu could see it in his face. Peter wanted to prove himself, though probably more as a fuck you to everyone who’d teased him and looked down on him than to gain Yondu’s good graces.

“Fine.” Peter punched the air in response and let out a whoop. “Don’t get too overexcited, son. You still need to clean the thing.”

“Awesome!” Yondu smiled at Peter’s exuberance, knowing that the novelty would soon wear off. The additional upkeep of the ship would add up to a lot more work than Peter was likely expecting. 

It would keep him busy though, Yondu thought. Maybe a little independence would satisfy the boy’s need to act out. It sure wouldn’t hurt to give the horny brat some private space where he could spend his energy without broadcasting his exploits to the rest of the crew. Horuz had been torn between not feeling Peter deserved the ship and wanting him away from the bunks and showers as often as possible. 

“So,” Peter began, running his hand along the side of the ship- The Milano. “Can I paint it gold?”

Yondu groaned.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points for anyone who can name where Peter's suggestions originate.


End file.
